


On Horseback

by yummysubculture



Series: NHL WW2 AU [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: AU, Boston Bruins, Gen, WW2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yummysubculture/pseuds/yummysubculture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Capt. Richards' men are lost in Belgium, Company B celebrates gaining control of Rome.</p><p>Written for the Bruins' Stanley Cup Parade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Horseback

Rome.

 

They were in fucking Rome and it was theirs to enjoy. 

 

After months fighting down the coast, they'd broken the Gustav line at Monte Cassino and driven the Germans out.  They'd officially surrendered the city on the 4th and for now at least, all the occupying troops could breathe easy.

 

"Breathe easy" of course was roughly translated by the men of B Company to mean "get wasted and act ridiculous" and Private Marchand was determined to do his part.  In theory, B Company was supposed to be watching a series of government buildings near the Palazzo Madama-- and during the day, they did their part-- but at night it was all too easy to slip out of their encampment, find some wine and cause some trouble.  Even the officers could be found frequenting the cafes around the Piazza Navona, once bustling tourist cafes, then abandoned storefronts, now busy once again as makeshift nightclubs.

 

Brad knew exactly how much of a blind eye Captain Chara was willing to turn towards his antics.  Aware of these limits, and his burning need to surpass them, he'd chosen a venue far from _Cafe Orso_ where Chara and his Lieutenant would be.  After a night out with Bergeron-- and probably Corporal Ference, too-- the Captain wouldn't be paying too much attention to who was sneaking in before morning roll.

 

The sergeants, Krecji and Lucic, were off to liberate their friend Horton from the hospital.  He'd mostly recovered from a nasty blow to the head he’d taken from a rifle butt, but he was still a little woozy at times, and Doctor Thomas had wanted to keep him around for observation.  Thomas, by far the best damn medic any company could ask for, would be enjoying some well deserved sleep now that most of the men were in stable condition.  It wouldn't be too hard for the two intimidating-looking officers to come in and convince the night nurses that they needed to take Private Horton back to HQ for very important, very vague reasons.

 

That left Brad with few of his usual drinking buddies.  It looked like it would be just him and the kid tonight.

 

Sure, Private Seguin wasn't much more of a kid than he was, only a couple of years younger, but when he'd arrived at B Company’s location with a group of replacements partway through the campaign, they'd all taken to calling him "kid".  It irked him something fierce.  That's probably why Brad did it. 

 

*****

 

They'd just left the outskirts of the Piazza, turning down a tiny alley that twisted and turned until it reached a smaller square.

 

"Here we are, kid.  _Punto Tazza_.  Heard it was the best."

 

"From who, Quaider?  Looks like a rat-hole to me."

"Fuck off.  Come on.  I need a drink after the way those bastards in C Company were riding my ass all day on patrol.  Especially those creepy twins."  He shuddered and opened the door to the tiny bar, sweeping his arm wide and bowing like a maitre'd.

 

"Such a gentleman."

 

"You fucking know it, kid."

 

*****

 

It turned out the _Punto Tazza_ was a bit of a rat-hole, but the wine was cheap and strong and they'd gotten a bottle each and headed out into the square.  Seguin was stretched out across the base of the tiny piazza's single statue—some serious old guy on a horse.

 

What is it with the Italians and statues of horses? Brad thought absently.  Big fucking horse statues everywhere-- anatomically correct ones, too.  Can't even walk into an intersection without looking at giant marble horse junk.

 

Horses.

 

"Fuck, I have to piss like a racehorse!" Brad declared suddenly, causing Seguin to start, hitting his head on a carved marble foreleg.  He swore fluently and rolled out from under the statue, trying to get away from it as quickly as possible.

 

"What? Where are you...?” Brad slurred.

 

"If you're going to piss on the horse, I'm not gonna sit under it!"

 

"Pfft, fuck off, like a horse not on the horse.  Although..." 

 

"Shit, man!"  Tyler looked on in horrified fascination as his friend took a leak all over the statue. 

 

He heard a tiny giggle and it took him a full minute to realize it had come from himself.  That realization prompted another giggle.  Soon he was cracking up, doubling over and trying not to spill what was left of his bottle of wine.

 

Brad, startled from his reverie by Tyler's laughter, finished up and zipped up his pants, stepping back to look at the horse.  Then at Tyler.  Then at the horse.

 

"Whatever you're thinking Marchand, the answer is no."

 

Actually, he wasn't thinking much of anything, but he stuck out his tongue anyway.

 

"You're no fun.  You're like a boring, fucking..." he searched his mind for something boring.  He alighted on his present location. "Statue.  Like a fucking statue, man.  Like this horseback fucker right here."

 

Tyler glared at Brad for a few seconds before realizing that the glare did make him look a bit like the marble man.

 

"Whatever.  You know I'd look way more dignified."

 

"Oh, really?"

 

Brad had a glint in his eye.  He was definitely thinking of things now.

 

"Come on, get on the horse, I'll give you a leg up."

 

"Fuck no-- you whizzed all over it!"

 

"Fine then! Another horse, statue-man."

 

He grabbed Tyler's wrist and took off down another winding alley.

 

*****

 

The next several hours were a bit of a blur, but Tyler's pretty damn sure he spent them looking for a statue to climb on that Marchand wouldn't piss on first.  Man was like a fucking fountain.

 

In the end, he decided Brad was enough of a horse's ass to count and jumped up on his back, almost knocking him over.

 

"DIGNITY!" he yelled, sloshing the wine into Brad's ear.  Whoops.

 

They both toppled under the surprise of the spill, landing in a pile in the middle of whatever piazza they'd ended up in.

 

Brad twisted around and found himself looking up at a familiar set of marble horse testicles.  Shit.  They were at Navona!  He tried to push Tyler’s body off of him, but the kid had gone totally boneless and refused to move.

 

By his head, someone cleared their throat.

 

He looked up-- very far up-- into the bemused face of his captain.

 

"I was, uh, just getting Seguin here back to bed, sir.  He wasn't feeling well and he needed some air.  We were most definitely not defecating... wait... defacing horses... statues.  Nope.  Sir."

 

Chara smiled, a rare and disconcerting sight to Brad's eyes, but it seemed that he wasn't going to discipline them.

 

He heaved a sigh of relief.

 

Then he vomited on Cptn. Chara's boots.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -The invasion of Sicily was the only primarily Canadian (as opposed to joint actions with the US and UK) action in the war. The Canadians were all over the Italian campaign and made up a large part of the occupying force when the Germans declared Rome an open city on June 4th, 1944.
> 
> -Palazzo Madama is a beautiful building that now houses the Italian senate. It's in the Piazza Navona. There isn't a statue of a horse there. Whatever. I think of statues of horses when I think of Piazzas.
> 
> Mangled google translate Italian:  
> "Cafe Orso"- Bear cafe  
> "Punto di Tazza"- Place of the Cup (drinking cup)


End file.
